


Both Sides Now

by mcgoogle_random



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hippies, F/F, POV Minerva McGonagall, Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, Underage Drinking, Young Minerva McGonagall, young Poppy Pomfrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgoogle_random/pseuds/mcgoogle_random
Summary: Minerva was an average girl. She lived in a normal, respectable household and went to school as all respectable girls should. She came from a well-off family whose beliefs held fast over centuries. They prayed before meals and listened to classical music on the old radio her grandfather purchased. Sundays were reserved for church, although they hardly went much.Minerva was an average girl, and who doubts an average girl.
Relationships: Minerva McGonagall/Poppy Pomfrey
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Both Sides Now

Minerva was an average girl. She lived in a normal, respectable household and went to school as all respectable girls should. She came from a well-off family whose beliefs held fast over centuries. They prayed before meals and listened to classical music on the old radio her grandfather purchased. Sundays were reserved for church, although they hardly went much.

Minerva was an average girl, and who doubts an average girl. 

You see, as much as her family's beliefs were thrust upon her from a young age, Minerva never really took them to heart. For example, she often went to school but skipped courses, choosing to hide in the alleys downtown and drink from bottles her parents couldn’t name. She wore inconspicuous clothing and hid cigarettes in her breasts. 

Her mother once asked her if she was dating anyone. When she told her she wasn’t (which was about the one truth she ever told the woman), and the once church filled Sundays turned into arranged dating, a new respectable man every week or so. 

Minerva didn’t like that.

She quickly developed a routine with the guys. She would take them for a walk, offer them a smoke. Played her role as the perfect girl with ease. She’d sit each of them down on the same park bench and with an innocent smile, tell them all the things a respectable girl ought to know nothing about. She’d make up lies that even to her sounded exaggerated. They’d look at her in shock. She smiled. Men, so predictable really. 

One day her friends dragged her to some random cafe in Yorkville, far from her home and school (not that she minded). The coffee was decent, nothing you couldn’t find anywhere else in the city. 

“Okay, spill. Why are we here?” Minerva asked once the group was settled with their mugs. 

“Well,” Rolanda began, smiling as she glanced at the corner of the cafe, “I wanted to show you all this amazing new singer.”

The other three rolled their eyes with a groan. Rolandas definition of ‘amazing’ was not the greatest. Minerva lit herself a cigarette and shook her head. She inhaled the sweet taste of nicotine, relaxing as the chemical hit her brain. 

“I know I always say that but this time I swear! She’s setting up now so you guys can hear it for yourselves,” the blonde exclaimed, pointing towards the corner she had been eyeing earlier. The group turned and sure enough a young woman was setting up her mic and guitar. Minerva released the cloud of grey smoke that had been sitting in her lungs and rested her smoke in an ashtray. Minerva, Ponoma and Irma shared a look before refocusing on the woman. She was short and skinny, long dirty blonde hair gracing over sharp features. She didn’t introduce herself, just started strumming her guitar. The notes were soft, unlike the usual racket Rolanda usually favours. Minerva was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps Rolanda was right. 

Then she started singing. Her voice, like the note from her guitar was gentle, the words laced with raw emotion that she displayed elegantly on her pointed face. Rolanda was right, not that Minerva would ever tell her that. She took another drag of her cigarette and watched with rapt attention as this mysterious woman sang. “Her name is Joni Mitchell,” Rolanda whispered over the music. 

That Sunday she told the latest boy she kissed a girl. Her mother didn’t like that, her father even less. She figured she would do it one day, just to spite them. 

A year passed and soon the alley the four shared housed two more. Irma had gotten into drugs and sat on the floor laughing and eating chips from the convenience store. Ponoma and her boyfriend Filius passed around cheap booze while Rolanda had her girlfriend pinned to the wall, snogging her senseless. It would be a lie to say Minerva didn’t watch. 

Protests passed by and the group of six decided it would be fun to join. They marched and chanted, unaware of their surroundings. 

From the twenty seventh floor, Minerva's father watched as his daughter protested against war during school hours. 

Needless to say that evening was eventful.

The next day Minerva asked Irma for a pull. The smoke in her lungs was lighter than that of her usual cigarettes, but the numbing sensation that spread through her body was much more intense. Her reality was titled, far more colourful than the boring grey life her parents wanted for her. 

Irma walked her home, the pair picking at fries they bought on the way home. They talked and laughed about pointless things, enjoying their drug infused reality. They snuck into Minerva’s backyard in a not so elegant way. They sat on the grass and Irma rolled them another joint. Minerva looked back towards the house, almost wishing for her mother to come out and find them. They each took turns inhaling from the brown stub, allowing their world to change if only in their minds. 

Neither can tell who moves first. Their lips meet softly, if rather messily. It’s slow and calculated but sure in nature and Minerva feels like a missing piece of herself is found. 

Her mother comes out of the house screaming but Minerva can’t hear her over the combination of drugs and adrenaline. 

They kicked her out to the streets. Minerva takes her father's bank card in turn. 

Minerva knew this day was coming. One way or another she was always destined to leave that cookie cutter life. She went to Irmas house, where her parents give them free rein to do whatever they desire. Minerva is almost positive that her parents give her weed. They bunk in Irmas room and her parents offer to set up a cot. The girls don’t mind sharing a bed. 

Irma was a painter. She made wonderful paintings with oils and watercolours. Her hands were gentle and precise, carefully bringing every small moment to life. That night Minerva learned of other things those hands could do. 

She stayed with Irma for a while, drinking during the day and getting high on the roof at night. It was wonderful, but Minerva wanted more. She wanted to travel and explore and she couldn’t do that in Toronto. 

She used her father's card to buy a van. It was small and blue with large windows, and Minerva fell in love with it. 

Irma painted flowers and peace signs in pinks and yellows all over the blue surface. Her father helped turn it into a full time living space. 

She said goodbye to the people who cared for her, then kissed Irma. They knew they wouldn’t last. Then she was off, nothing but her van, some tunes and weed for the road. 

She drove all day until she reached New York. It was a big city with a bigger attitude. People were protesting on every street it seemed, newly dubbed “hippies” marching with colourful banners and singing songs of peace. 

She sat in peaceful protests in parks, smoking and laughing with strangers she’d probably never see after this point. She adopted their sense of fashion, opting for loose pants and skirts rather than the tight jeans she used to wear. She bought shirts that covered the bare minimum of skin and scarves for her hair. One gentleman was handing out peace signs on chains and she wore it around her neck. 

One day she heard someone mention Joni Mitchell. Minerva wondered how they knew the girl from the cafe. 

“She’s opening for Tom Rush in Boston, some time this week,” they told her. 

Minerva was in Boston in under four hours. 

People gathered around the stage, some sitting in the grass, others standing and dancing in groups. Some people sat on top of parked cars, laying down blankets or cuddling lovers. The thick smell of weed covered the area. Minerva found a patch of grass and sat down, letting the music and fumes from her joint cloud her mind. 

At some point she had decided to lie down on the grass, her raven hair splayed around her like a halo. She went to sit up, but someone had stepped on her fanned out hair. 

“Oops! Didn’t see you there,” a voice sounded from above her. It was sweet and gentle, like the sound of the guitar. The pressure on her head ceased and she quickly stood up. The quick movement combined with her inebriated state caused her to stubble a bit. Two arms reached out to steady her. 

“I’m good, I’m good,” she said, hoping it didn’t sound too slurred. She looked at the person who caught her and was surprised when she was met with a pair of warm blue eyes. Minerva let her vision focus for a minute, taking in the woman’s (that much was certain) soft complexion and round face, the opposite of her own. Her blonde hair fell like a curtain around her, the long strands ending near her belly. She wore a long skirt with two slits on either side, the thin fabric hanging low on her hips leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Her top (if it could be considered that), covered the bare minimum of flesh, leaving her breasts nearly exposed. 

And god did Minerva want to touch them. She forced herself to look away and ignore the tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach and on her arms where the woman still held on to her. Minerva inhaled and licked her lip, forcing her mind to think of anything other than the two tempting orbs in front of her. “Guess we’re even now,” she stated dumbly. Later she’d blame this on the weed coursing through her veins. 

To her surprise though, the blonde smiled. “Ya,” she said cheerfully, “guess we are. I’m Poppy.” She let go of Minerva's arms (she noticed the cold where her hands once were), sure now that she was steady, and held out her hand. 

Minerva, ever the respectable girl she was, took it in her own, giving it a soft shake. “Minerva.”

The pair sat together for the remainder of the concert, smoking, laughing, drinking and at one point, Poppy had insisted on braiding Minerva’s hair. Bright flowers were woven into the black plaits, making the bright colours pop. It quickly became her new favorite style.

As the night wore on and the effects of the weed grew stronger, Minerva felt her resolve start to drift. At some point Poppy had curled up in her lap, blonde hair splayed over Minerva's front. She ran her fingers through it, the other hand running up and down her side, the soft tan skin like silk under her touch. In the pale moonlight, she could notice the way her pale skin stood out against Poppys. 

With a final pull of the joint, she let the smoke settle and then blew it into the air, letting the grey cloud float away in the night. The chemicals settled in her brain, giving her the final push towards Poppy. She pushed the blonde strands to the side revealing the junction where neck meets shoulder, soft skin she hoped to ravish with attention. The hand on Poppy’s side slid further up, gently caressing the side of her breast. It was barely a touch, easily mistaken for a breeze but it sent a small, noticeable shiver through Poppy. Minerva followed the same movement, more sure this time around. Poppy made no movement, so Minerva continued her ministrations, her other hand snaking down to rest on the blondes exposed stomach. She drew lazy circles on her stomach, waiting for any sign to either continue or sease.

Needless to say she hoped for the former. 

When Poppy looked back at Minerva, her blue eyes were darker than before, and it had nothing to do with the night. Her gaze flitted from Minerva's eyes to her lips before leaning up slightly. Minerva met her halfway. 

The kiss was soft, neither in any hurry. The drugs in their system had lulled them, making their movements more slow. Not that it was any bother to Minerva. She wanted to explore every part of Poppy. 

The hand teasing Poppys side sneaked under her flimsy excuse for a shirt, palming the supple flesh. They both moaned at the action, Minerva moving from Poppy’s lips to her exposed neck while wetness started to pool in her washed out jeans. She kissed it softly at first before carefully sucking on her pulse, testing her response. Poppy moaned again and Minerva was sure that if they had been standing Poppy’s knees would have been buckling. She continued massaging her breast while her mouth teased her neck and her other hand slipped under the elastic of her skirt. 

Minerva had never topped before. In her short time with Irma she had always surrendered herself to the artist's touch. 

But now, here on the grass with Poppy, everything just seemed right. Her right hand ran up and down the inside of her thighs, close to her mound but far enough to tease her still. She let her nails drag softly over the skin. With each slow kiss on her neck and even slower caress on her thigh, Poppy grew more aroused, her once soft moans becoming louder groans of frustration. While Minerva's hands teased, Poppy’s grasped at legs and neck, nails hooking into anything to ground her. Minerva let her left hand switch breasts, reaching across to roll a pebbled nipple between her fingers. She gave up her assault on the blonde's neck, leaving a rather large hickey as a reminder, or perhaps a marker (not that it crossed her dazed mind) in favour of Poppy’s lips on her again. 

This kiss was different from their first. It was hungry, pent up desire making them desperate. Poppy ran a tongue over Minerva's lips, asking for entrance. She complied, letting their tongues dance together. For a woman she just met, she didn’t expect it to feel so right. 

The hand on Poppy’s thigh moved to her clit, rubbing it in soft circles. Poppy keened at the touch, her moan muffled by Minervas mouth. Minerva thought that she had never been this turned on. She longed to taste her, suck one of her breasts into her mouth, ravish her clit with the attention it so deserves. She wanted to watch her face as she came beneath her. 

With a final flick on her clit, Minerva slid her fingers over Poppy’s wet folds, moaning at the touch. She felt herself drip. She entered her with one finger, detaching herself from Poppy’s lips to see her face. From her angle she couldn’t see much but what she did see was blue eyes rolling back into her head which was now thrown against Minervas shoulder. 

She sets the pace slow and methodical, trying to draw out her orgasm for as long as she can. Poppy moans and rocks her hips, chasing a release that Minerva won’t give her for a while. 

The pair is so caught up in their moment they don’t notice the music has stopped and people have started to leave the park. It’s simply them in a little bubble that neither is ready to leave. 

The slow pace quickly proves that it’s not enough. Poppy is moaning and gasping and Minerva can’t help but speed up, adding in another finger. Her thumb works her clit while her fingers pumped faster through her folds. With a final squeeze on her breast, Poppy is gone moaning loudly as her release hits her. Her head is thrown back and she pants through the aftershocks, her walls fluttering around Minerva's fingers. Minerva looked at her adoringly, admiring the way the moon glistened off the thin layer of sweat had formed on her forehead. She pulled her hands back, her brain registering for the first time that the blonde was not wearing any underwear and smiled. She wiped her hand on her jeans before holding Poppy in a loose hug. She nuzzled her neck and left feather light kisses along her jaw. 

“That,” Poppy started after a while, her voice still scratchy from moaning and weed, “was amazing.”

Minerva smiled. For her first time in control she felt like she did a good job, although she figured if she was to change one thing it would be the positioning. Minerva felt like she had missed a whole other experience had she been able to watch Poppy properly. “I have to agree with you on that one,” she replied with a smile. 

They sat there in silence, taking in the near empty park and basking in the afterglow. Minerva noticed that the few couples and groups that remained had the same idea that they had. She wondered how many of them were spur of the moment impulses. 

“So,” Minerva began, her earlier courage slowly dissipating, “I have a van parked nearby. We can head over for a night cap if you like?” she offered nonchalantly. Deep down, she hoped she agreed. Now that she had explored her body, she wanted to know more about this blonde she met at a concert. Poppy turned and searched Minerva's face before breaking out a small smile. 

“Sure!” she gleamed, moving to stand up. She reached out a hand and pulled Minerva up after. With one hand still firmly in Poppy’s hold, she let herself get pulled in close, expecting a kiss. To her surprise, Poppy passed her mark, her lips just barely grazing Minerva’s ear. “Besides,” she whispered huskily, “I have to return the favour.” With that, she pulled Minerva into a searing kiss, making the brunettes insides twist in anticipation. 

Minerva was an average girl. She lived in a blue van painted with flowers and smoked weed on public streets. She lived with her girlfriend Poppy, who sang to The Beatles and Joni Mitchell over campfires. They wore peace signs and rose coloured glasses with loose baggy clothes that older generations scoffed at. They attended rallies and peaceful protests, waving signs and banners in hopes of a peaceful nation.

Minerva was an average girl, but that's not what the world saw.


End file.
